The Long Ride
Once in the limo for the 4 hour ride home, Annette playfully bumped me with her shoulder to say "hey, I know you!" I returned the gesture with my own shoulder check. We giggled like two kids in the play yard trying to behave but having too much fun moshing. Our friendship had been on the rise for some time now and I think we both took this not as an overture, but more like one more instance of us looking for and sharing a good laugh. A toss left or right as our driver navigated busy Manhattan streets simply gave momentum to the moshing and like all good, stress relieving moments, we just kept allowing ourselves to continue the laughter and the moment.
Then came the fateful turn.
She had gotten up to retrieve a bottle of water from the console. Gotten up is not quite right in a limo because you really can't stand. You know the move. You lean forward, brace yourself, bring your hips up and kind of crawl to your destination. She was doing this and I was admiring her ass in her thin, black satin evening gown that extended all the way to her ankles. You have to understand this was not a lustful look exclusively. My wife and I are artists and admire the human form in all it's glorious moments. This was one of them. My wife and I would have discussed lust, then highlights, draping and capturing the sheen.
"You want one?" She asked, catching me in what must have been a gawk - at least that's what it felt like. "Uhh …. " I replied in the way you do when you've been both busted and distracted. Then it happened.
The limo lurched a bit right, sending her left into my seat. She didn't land in my lap, rather her butt planted hard right next to mine and her shoulder landed in my chest. She squawked in laughter at the awkward motion and the driver transmitted his apologies over the intercom. Then, rather than sit up and scoot over to where she had been, squarely in the right seat, she turned her torso the other way and scooted her hips to the front of the seat and swung her arm over my head. I held her as if dipping her on the dance floor, firmly but politely supported her back with my left arm and gingerly holding her hip with my right.
She gigled that soft giggle, ran her hand down my jaw, looked me dead in the eye and said, "I'm going to kiss you."
She was a striking, whip smart, short haired red head with a full bosom and generous hips. I had admired her from the first day I met her. So had my wife. My wife and I had joked on more than one occasion in private and with my companion and her husband about orgies that I think we all dismissed as harmless fun - lest we all have to deal with the fallout of actually doing it. There was more guilt in our neighborhood than stones in St Pete's. But there had been a tension between the two of us all along that my primitive, 13 year old brain fabricated into endless dreams. And here it was, one of them playing out. What the fuck?
"I dare you." I played. Looking my face over, she leaned in and pecked me.
"No. Wait, I can do better." And she did.
~*~